Why Freedom Feels So Much Like Falling
by Allthequirkythings
Summary: Velekha is Astrid's sister. Never heard of her? Figures. Epithet: Vel the Useless. Hiccup just wanted to kill a dragon. Vel just wanted to be a healer. Sometimes life is chaos. A story about freedom, falling, and finding yourself. OCxHiccup (?)
1. Encyclopaedia of Dragons

**Hi, friends. I just watched _How To Train Your Dragon 2 _and felt such a rush of weird renewed affection towards Hiccup and Toothless that I felt like writing another fanfic. Cheers!**

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><p>This is Berk.<p>

Yak milk freezes over 300 days of the year and gives your stomach frostbite the other 65. If you want your hands warm, you kill a dragon and make gloves out of its hide. Only the strongest, most ruthless Vikings survive here.

And then there's me.

"Velekha, the pump!" Astrid yells at me, shoving her bucket under the water pipe, eyes darting around for fire amidst the roars and screams.

"My butt's on fire!" Ruffnut hollers, running wildly down the hill. "It's too hot!"

"Don't flatter yourself," Tuffnut snickers, then is smacked in the head by Ruffnut's bucket. A Gronckle bellows overhead and burps a ball of flame, lighting a house across the square on fire.

_"The pump, Velekha!"_ Astrid screams at me again, and I fumble with the rusted metal. The pipe gargles, channeling sea water from down the cliff...but nothing comes out.

Astrid curses, and we both duck as a swarm of Terrible Terrors zip overhead.

"It must be frozen!" I cry desperately, pumping the latch up and down with no avail.

There's a loud roar- too loud to be Viking- and with a swoop of sweltering heat, a Monstrous Nightmare lands in front of us, not ten paces from Ruffnut, who's clutching her behind. It's enormous and all spiny teeth and burning scales. It whips its head and fire rains down across the dirt, setting the nearest houses on fire.

And I do what I know how to do.

I scream.

The Nightmare's giant yellow eyes turn to me and it folds its wings, crawling towards us, flames flickering all over it like it's burning alive and I wonder for an insane instant if it's hurting—

_"You're useless!"_ Astrid screams, pushing me roughly aside. She pulls out her axe and swings it hard across the base of the pipe. Several feet of pipe is cut clear off, flying and slicing across my arm. I cry out wrap my hand around the bleeding.

Astrid's taken up a shield and directs the flow away from her, dowsing the Monstrous Nightmare and all the burning houses with briny water. The dragon shakes itself and opens its mouth to spit fire, but a lone spark falls onto the wet ground before its eyes start to sting. It shrieks and soon another echoes it, then another, until the whole mass of attacking dragons is roaring a monstrous storm.

And with a great flapping of wings, they alight, red and green and blue, fierce talons, sopping wet, away over the ocean.

Astrid drops the shield and sea water spits straight up a good ten paces, drenching all of us in salty spray.

And all of Berk cheers.

Gobber throws open the windows of his weaponry shop. "It was Astrid!" He shouts. "By Thor, you shouldna seen 'er!" He beats his hook hand against the counter with hoorah.

The villagers cheer and beat their shields on hammers, then take Astrid up on their shoulders. She laughs a little, moonlight flashing all over her golden hair. What a Viking.

I cradle my arm and catch my breath next to the faucet that's still spewing water like a hailstorm, me still soaking wet.

"Hey, Velekha," Tuffnut turns from the procession to shout. "Your sister's pretty cool!"

Ruffnut has extinguished the fire on her butt. She runs next to her brother, clutching her bum, but still has the spirit to add, "Yeah! Totally nice move with that arm...Speaking of Useless, where's your husband?"

I open my mouth, then close it.

And they just laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

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><p>By the time I fix the pump, the post-battle feast is already over and I'm still soaking wet.<p>

But at least I'm not bleeding.

At least.

I grunt as I push open the main hall door. Gobber's sitting alone at the long table, swirling mead in his stein. The others must be doing Viking-ly things. Probably throwing heavy objects around for fun somewhere.

"Where've you been, Valka?" Gobber asks, gulping down his drink with such gusto that I think he's finally swallowed his tooth, but when Gobber resurfaces, it's still there.

"My name's Velekha," I remind him, and shiver in my wet clothes. "I wouldn't s'pose you've seen Astrid, have you?"

"Ah, Astrid the star, eh?" Gobber chortles, winking.

When I don't laugh, he cocks his head.

"What's wrong, Valka?"

"Nothing," I say quickly, then manage to smile. "I want to just congratulate her."

"Ah, there's a good sister," Gobber says proudly. "They're up in the wood cuttin' trees now as we speak."

"Oh," I say. "That's...great."

"Now lighten up there, Valka," Gobber burps, patting the bench. I shuffle over, boots squishing, and plop down next to him. "Dragon trainin's comin' up," he says, eyes happy, like learning how to kill a dragon is as great as yak ice cream.

"I talked to yer Uncle Finn," Gopper continues, not noticing my glum face. "And you what he said? He says," Gopper layers on a thicker accent. "'That Valka, she needs to learn 'ow to be a Viking,' and I, well I say, 'Put her through training then!' and he says, 'The girl can fit in mah 'elmet if she tried!'"

Gopper laughs like this is hilarious. I look at my hands and laugh a little too because Gopper's whole body shakes when he laughs, from the tip of his helmet to the moldy wood of his peg leg.

Deep down, though, I wonder how on Berk I'll survive training. I can just picture Astrid, killing every dragon, saving me again and again, her sister, Velekha the Useless—

I look down and have to blink a lot.

"To dragon trainin', eh?" Gobber holds up his stein and offers it to me.

I take a swig. It's more liquid than I expect and all of a sudden it's slopping down my face, trickling down my arms, stinging my new cut.

"Ow," I say, wiping my face.

Gobber chuckles and takes his mead back, downing it in one humongous swallow. He burps. "We'll start you easy, then, eh?"

He pushes me a cup of water.

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><p>The square is still empty when I leave. After a fight like that, no one ever just goes to sleep. They go throw heavy objects or cut down trees or build boats or fish or skin dragons because apparently that's what Vikings like to do.<p>

Emphasis on _they_.

I rub my arms.

There's a scuffling behind me.

A figure skirts stealthily around the burnt buildings but accidently kicks a water bucket and starts to hop around, clutching his foot, cursing under his breath.

"Hiccup?" I call.

"Oh, hi, hey, hello," he responds, putting his foot down quickly- a bad decision, because he winces.

"What happened to you? Gobber was wondering where you ran off to. We thought—"

I stop.

Hiccup chuckles uncomfortably.

"-thought I was eaten by a dragon?" he responds quickly. "Yeah, no such luck. Hah...Well, see ya, Vel!"

"Wait!" I say before I can think, and he steers around.

"Listen, I'm kind of in a hurry and don't want to be rude but I have some _really _important business to get to—"

Something striped and slimy falls out of his fur vest.

"Hiccup, is that an eel?"

"This?" Hiccup picks it up and slings it quickly over his shoulder. "Yes. Anyway, see you later!"

"Hiccup!" I call, but he's gone. And I don't know what it is, but I take off after him. All I know is that Hiccup is no Viking, no dragon-slaying master, no strong and brawny warrior. I also know he's a bad liar.

I lose him at the edge of the wood, but his and the chieftain's house is the only one this far up the hill. The strange thing is that there are no lights on inside. I bite my lip and peer in through the window.

Dragon skin and furs cover the floor. A set of wooden stairs lead into the bedrooms. A work table is built into the wall and on it lies a book. I smoosh my nose on the cold glass to see better. It's a copy of the Dragon Encyclopedia, flipped to one almost-empty page.

But Hiccup's drawn in it.

Hiccup's drawn a Night Fury.

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><p><strong>More on why Gobber calls Velekha "Valka" next chapter. Some VelxHiccup soon. Review? :)<strong>


	2. Never Care

**Hi, friends. This story takes place somewhere during the first movie. Events not told necessarily in order.**

**Thanks to all who reviewed and favorited/followed! I hope you guys all enjoy this as much as I love How to Train Your Dragon and writing this!**

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><p>I stumble back from the window, my mind swirling.<p>

_Hiccup? _

I quickly march away, veering along the wood. I don't want to think about dragons while walking so close to the dark forest, but I can't help but wonder—

Was Hiccup—

_No_...

"_I caught a Night Fury! And it's not like all the other times I caught one...this time it's real!"_

Was he actually telling the truth?

I shake my head and start running, because running is painful and distracts from what's right here and is the closest to freedom that I get around here.

The grass on the rocky side of the island is tough and scraggly, and when I trip the first time, my palms sting. I get up and run, blinking hard because the air is stark and freezing. My breath makes puffsof white, and I have to stop for a little to clear mucus from my throat. I must be the only Viking in the history of Vikinghood to have trouble breathing. But I must be the only asthmatic that tries as hard as a Viking. I cough and spit, then keep going.

Black, wet rock laces along the cliff, the smell of sea spray misty and thick. Waves crash a hundred paces beneath me. Eventually, the forest overtakes the cliff side, and in a stride I'm running through trees, ducking under branches, sometimes tripping on brambles and pulling thorns from my clothes. My breath is a ragged, whispering thing torn from my chest, but it's fine because the wind is my mother's fingers through my hair, my feet so numb they no longer feel like feet, and for a moment, for just a _moment_, I'm—

_Tripping! _

One instant the ground is here and the next nowhere—

For a split second I see that the ravine I've run straight into is steep, and I feel my balance give before I can skid to a full stop. My arms windmill wildly like a pair of wings, but I haven't any wings and the soft soil under my boots give beneath me. I curse, flipping on my belly for the last few paces of slope. My fingernails dig into the grass, as I slide, too quickly- my feet drop, then my chest, and the fall is clear. In vain, I fall for meters and curl my spine into itself before I hit the ground, but the impact jars me so hard it's almost a state of _being, _like pain is an existence,before I tumble and roll the rest of the way down into the cove.

Into the lake.

For a moment, it's all the strength I can muster to keep my mouth open and breathe. The shock and the cold seep somewhere deep, deep into my bones and my wheezing is replaced with gasping. I struggle against the freezing water and kick, but I feel myself slipping, my furs dragging my down and my already exhausted legs unable to fight- unable to move, really- against the lake and whatever is hidden beneath it, and I realize that I- _oh gods_—

I'm drowning.

I kick and start screaming, which comes out more like a rasp from my broken voice, and for a second of brief insanity I swear I hear someone calling out—

I'm sinking, and in that sinking, all I can think about isn't my life, or my sister, or my uncle, I'm thinking, thinking—

_Hiccup? Are you here to save me, Hiccup?_

My head descends and my feet kick weakly, hoping to feel soil or the ground—

But nothing comes.

Until something does.

There's a ripple that pushes me around in the water as something massive cannonballs into the water. A dragon? My heart stops and I start thrashing again. A dragon with an appetite for waterlogged prey?

And _there! _

A tail, curled around my leg...or a water weed?

And something hits me in the back with the power of Thor's hammer.

I fly clear out of the water and land hard on the edge, pebbles and sand digging into my cheek and hands. I cough and wipe my eyes to see—

-a dragon.

A _Night Fury, _drowning.

Its scales are black as coal and its wings enormous. The Night Fury has a triangular face ornamented with these great yellow eyes and a slitted mouth, open in terror and anger and frustration. It's roaring- no, _mewling_- as it thrashes in the lake, making these massive ripples that break the reflection of the moon on the surface, over and over again. Water splashes in giant sheets as the Fury flaps its wings, trying to get back to shore.

And I'm thinking that there's no _way _this lake is that deep, that a dragon can't touch the bottom—

I notice the Fury's head is on the surface, so something else must be stuck underneath—

And gods darn me, gods darn, darn, darn me, but I kick off my boots and cloak.

"I'm Velekha Vel Hofferson, niece of Finn and sister of Astrid," I whimper, "and I swear I'm not insane."

But you can't tell, because then I do a running dive off the rocks.

The icy water's still such a shock that I almost gasp underwater, but I kick hard to warm my muscles. Eventually, my fingertips reach the bottom. I feel the Fury thrashing underwater and open my eyes. It's five paces away from me. Furious streams of bubbles and water ripple my tunic, but I see its ropy black tail is jammed twixt two boulders that must've been knocked over when it saved me—

And then it hits me.

"_It saved me!" _I gargle—

_Thwack!_

A wing rushes past my vision and strikes me across the face, jarring me so bad that I have to break the surface, sputtering. The Fury's making these sad, sad cries and even though the beast knocked me in the head just now, it still breaks my heart a little cause _oh gods, it save me, didn't it? It's a dragon and it saved me. _I bite my lip, then look carefully for an opening. _There! _And I dive.

I navigate slowly to where it's trapped and cautiously swim under its scaly belly, trying not to look too closely at its talons. Anchoring myself on one of the big boulders, I push hard with my legs to try to free the Fury's tail, but it won't budge an inch. I push with all my strength and I swear my spine cracks a little, but the boulder starts to give a little too. A few more inches and it'll roll off and sink into the sand, just a little more—

_Wham! _

Bubbles fly out of my mouth as I'm sent sprawling by a crazy wing. My head whacks against the ground and my lungs suddenly don't have enough air.

I surface, throwing up water and crying a little bit.

The Night Fury just mewls and tries to flap away.

"Would you stop? _I'm trying to help you!_" I yell, coughing and wiping my eyes angrily because- well, because _Astrid _could probably move that stinking boulder, _couldn't she?_ The Fury whines and lands hard on its outstretched wings, making a wave the size of my house.

I scream in frustration. "Oh, you useless thing, _STAY STILL!_"

And for a second—

I swear—

I _swear _he cocks his head at me a little like he understands—

But then he's wailing and dowsing me in spray and I've had enough.

"Well, fine then!" I yell, face and eyes burning, paddling back to shore. "See why I care!"

He shrieks and a purple glow burns from his throat. There's this distinctive whistling like a kettle and if I strain my ears I can imagine someone thunder, "_Night Fury! GET DOWN!_"

I gasp and dive underwater- but no fiery blast hits me. The purple plasma screams and explodes harmlessly high into the air.

I surface, coughing. "_Stop! Stop!_" I yell, flapping my arms like a deranged dragon hatchling. "They'll see you!"

The Fury mewls, such a defeated sound, like he doesn't even care—

...Like me.

I don't care.

I don't care about some stupid dragon, I _don't._

If I was a _good _Viking, I'd care _so much_ that I'd kill the dragon and make a shawl from its skin. I'd be looked at as a hero, a great warrior, better than Hiccup and Tuffnut and Ruffnut and Snotlout and Astrid- I'd be better than _Astrid—_

The Fury falls back onto his wings and moans.

I could kill him—

I could _kill_.

I don't even add kill a_ dragon_, because _dragon, Viking_, it's all the same.

It's all the same.

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><p><strong>Strange twist of fate or disturbing insights into Vel's character?! <strong>**Stay tuned. Don't forget to leave a review!**

**Also: I have a question for you guys who read through to the end. I have a lot planned for this story, and was wondering if you have any preferences for chapter length? I aim for around at least 1000 words a chapter once a week, but wouldn't (probably) have a problem with longer chapters (just updated rather sporadically). **

**Thanks! **


	3. A Good Viking

**Speedy chapter for you guys! **

**This week, I also re-discovered the beauty and genius which is the _How to Train Your Dragon _soundtrack. "Test Drive" and "Romantic Flight" really inspired this next scene. Josh Powell is a beast at composing.**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>Viking tradition dictates that any infant deemed too small, too weak, or too sick by the elder to be left in the cold to die on its own.<p>

It's cruel, but it's tradition, and I've seen it before.

It's what good Vikings honor and know. If I was a good Viking.

My arms grow sore and the water tries to grasp my chin. I kick back to shore and drag myself onto the grass, coughing as the cold finally catches up to me- coughing and coughing and coughing before it subsides into heaves, and the rest of my body is drying but not my face. I reach up and realize I'm not cold- I'm crying.

I'm crying.

Because I don't care to kill the dragon, but still care too much to let it die.

Viking tradition dictates that the dying must die alone, whether it's a weak infant or a sick woman. Child and mother die apart, because seeing someone in their supreme moment of weakness is remembering said Viking as weak, as lifeless, as listless. Life without honor is not life at all.

"If I was a good Viking," I mutter, sniffing and wiping my face. If Astrid was here, she'd say I was disgusting for crying so much.

Then I realize- the dragon's silent. He's stopped struggling.

I look up.

Then, his tail swishes out of the water, a black fan.

And my heart sinks.

_He's free. Oh gods, he's free—_

I start to scoot backwards, legs paralyzed.

_-to eat me or roast me or slash me or kill me—_

Suddenly, the Night Fury roars and launches out of the water, and I scramble back, hitting my head on the back of a boulder and my vision is swimming and I press my back against the solid rock, bracing myself—

The dragon's rushing at me with incredible speed and stops and shrieks inches from my face, his wings spread in a threat as large as four Vikings with their arms out. I can't scream, can't seem to do anything but see the dull sheen of his scales, count his eyes: _one two._

Luminescent yellow with pupils in slits as sharp as his talons.

_One two. _

He growls as nostrils twitch as he smells me. Gobber says dragons can smell fear, that they're _attracted_ to fear. I wonder if the Fury thinks I smell delicious.

I don't want to count the teeth so I count the eyes again: _one two._

His mouth opens and I smell fish and ocean and some kind of other meat (please let it not be Viking, please). The tunnel of his throat is a dark thing, raw and red, with powerful folds for swallowing (please, oh gods, _please_)—

-Hiccup, _please_—

-and the dragon licks me from my knees to my hair.

"Hey!" I yell, scrabbling to stand up as he nudges my hands, drowning them in thick saliva. "Hey! _Gross_..."

I put my palms out in peace and the Fury sticks them in his mouth. I brace myself for the razor sensation of teeth, but all I feel is soft gum on my hands and his warm tongue around my fingers. He moves his warm pink gums on my fingers like he's biting- like Phlegma's little boy when he was growing teeth- like the Fury tastes something but won't rip my fingers off. And it's such a surprise that I don't even try to fight.

The Fury's tongue slips over each of my fingers, his eyes curious and pupils perfect circles.

_Fish, _I realize.

Before the attack, when the mob of dragons was just a flock of dark shapes in the evening horizon, Phlegma had pushed me to help load the weeks' catch into a storage cave under Berk. I remember swearing my hands would smell like fish for years.

The Fury licks my palms like my yaks with feed and I nearly laugh in surprise.

_Thank gods for fish._

_Thank ocean for fish._

"_VEL!" _

There's a _pop_SHOOPsound as the Fury rips his head away and his teeth suddenly reappear. He lunges back, growling, eyes narrow, teeth shining- all this in one motion so fast my hands are still outstretched, still feeling warmth and the dragon's tongue touching my hands.

"Vel, are you hurt? Are you okay?" Hiccup appears out of nowhere, waving his arms. When he sees my fingers are intact, he advances at the Fury.

"No, don't!" I shout, knocking Hiccup into the ground before I even know what I'm doing. "He's scared, Hiccup, I know it's hard to understand and I sound crazy but maybe I'm crazy and we need a little crazy right now to understand what's happening!"

Hiccup wiggles to look at me with his mouth half-open. My arms are slung across his chest and I quickly rearrange my hold into a lock to keep him down, one hand pinned on his shoulder, the other grabbing his fur vest. I'm so light it wouldn't be a challenge for anyone else to knock me off, but Hiccup's a lightweight and I'd bet a month's worth of yak milk that even I'm heavier than he is.

"Wait- Vel? _What?_" he says, voice wheezing a bit because I'm basically lying on top of him, but I don't let go.

"Don't hurt him, Hiccup," I plead, my face squished on his chest. "I don't know what I'm doing, but you can't _hurt _him, Hiccup!"

"Oh, um...you should probably know something about me—"

"I _know_ you're a Viking and need to show your dad that, and I need to show people too, but don't _kill _him, Hiccup, _oh gods_..."

And _darn me_, I start crying again.

"I don't- it's really important, actually, what I have to tell you," Hiccup interrupts weakly. "Vel, are you okay?"

I curse myself for being so emotional, but I remember when we were ten and Snotlout grabbed my long brown hair and sheared it short like a boy's. I cried so hard, Astrid slapped me. For some reason, the memory only makes me cry harder.

"You- you can't _kill _him," I insist, passing an angry hand to wipe my face and managing to poke myself in the eye in the process. "Ow."

"Hey," Hiccup says, starting to get up, but I lurch forward and pin my knee under his chin. He makes an _oomph _sound like he's deflating.

"Sorry," I whisper.

"_Ack_, there's something reallyreallyreally important...I think you'll quite like it, actually, given the circumstances—"

A bird chirps and I look up. The light's turning a darker shade of dark, marking the dawn of the morning. Whatever happens here, it has to be done fast.

I take a deep breath.

"You're not going to hurt him," I say, trying to sound calm. I lean over so I'm looking directly at Hiccup's face. I try to conjure up as much storm as I can in my gray eyes. "You are not _hurting _this dragon, Hiccup."

"Don't you get it- I would never hurt Toothless!" Hiccup exclaims, throwing his hands up onto the dirt. "I've been trying to tell you all this time that I—"

"_Toothless?_" I blink at Hiccup.

Suddenly, I'm scooped up like a newborn lamb, staring into a pair of glowing, yellow eyes.

"Toothless," Hiccup says slowly, rising to his feet. "Toothless, just...just put her down, nice and easy—"

The Fury looks at me and I look at the Fury.

We look.

"Don't worry, he won't hurt you," Hiccup says, putting his hands up and shuffling closer.

_How do _you _know? _I think, heart racing.

"Toothless?" I yell down at him. "Is that some kind of sick joke?"

And suddenly I notice something glaringly obvious that anyone would have noticed before.

The dragon.

Has a saddle.

Has a _saddle._

"I know it's strange," Hiccup's saying, and from somewhere far away I feel him touch my foot. "But dragons aren't who we think they are—"

But I can't take my eyes off that saddle and these big yellow eyes.

The Fury looks at me and I look at the Fury.

We look.

Maybe we even _see_.

Hiccup's talking again but I don't hear a thing.

I press my forehead onto the black scales, softer than I expected.

Suddenly, Toothless cocks his head and I almost slip off, but then he tips his neck up, sliding me down and bumping the saddle.

"Vel?" I hear.

I hesitate for a second and feel Toothless ripple with so much power- untapped power no Viking ever considered exploring before.

_If I was a good Viking_, I think, swinging my other leg around the saddle and feeling a rush of dread and joy.

"Oh gods, _Toothless!_" Hiccup says frantically, but scrambles out of the way as Toothless bounds forward to take a running start. Wind ripples through my hair, and my breathing gets shorter, matching each beat of Toothless' feet on the ground. "_Vel! _The tail, Vel!"

I look back: flapping with every step, Toothless' tail is a half-fan. The other half is made of some sort of fabric and a bit crumpled from where it was stuck under the boulder.

"Your left foot!" Hiccup yells, further now but running after us.

Connected to the edge of the makeshift tail is a strand of leather tied to the foothold of my left. This must be how to keep Toothless steady. I turn forward again- we've got a good hundred paces of cove left before it turns into cliff, but with this speed—

I experimentally push my toe down and the tail flips. We catch a good three paces of air before landing down again, hard. Toothless mewls and glances back, sensing an unsure rider, and we're going on fifty paces of cove—

-thirty paces—

I lean forward onto his back. Onto a _dragon's _back.

-ten paces—

I tighten my grip on the saddle. _If I was a good Viking..._

"_Now!_" I cry, bringing my heel down hard.

Toothless flaps his powerful wings and I struggle to keep my foot in the same position as we climb, higher and higher, clearing the cliff by a clip. I hear Hiccup whooping somewhere that seems far below. We climb higher than the trees and soon we're headed straight for the stars. My world spins once again as Toothless levels just below the layer of clouds. Lights under us are Berk, passing with the blink of an eye.

I can barely catch my breath from the altitude and the rush and the view. Eventually, I lean slowly onto Toothless' back.

"The world just got a whole lot bigger," I say.

The world just stretches on.

It doesn't take long to learn that pressing my heel down allows Toothless to rise while pressing my toe eases him into a descent. I should lighten the foot if we want to soar, and never, _never_ press down too hard, as I learned when we nearly barreled into a formation of rock, were it not for his plasma blasting it apart before we narrowly slipped through the falling boulders.

That same plasma that inspired so many _"Get down! NIGHT FURY!"_s and _"the unholy offspring of lightning and death itself" _quotes...the same plasma that just saved my life.

His scales aren't anything like I expected. They're not slimy and sharp, like a fish's. They're softer, smoother. Dragon scales feel like running your hand over a thousand stones: the kind perfect for skipping on a lake.

I look back. We've left land far behind. Ocean stretches in every direction, whispering and shiny in the moonlight. Waves are barely moving, and I see the spines of some sort of water dragon slit the sea, then disappear.

_More dragons_, I think. _A world of dragons. I've just never seen it before. _

We soar higher, and I feel the familiar pressure on my foot to press my heel.

Dampness clings to my clothes and dew forms on Toothless' scales as we pass through the clouds. The brightness above is so startling, my foot loosens and I sit for a while, mouth open.

Up here, the air is colder, but in an ice clear, so-sharp-it-almost-hurts sort of way. Oranges and pinks and blues surround us like the air itself, like I can reach out an arm and touch it. I know it's ridiculous and not possible, but I try anyway. I press my toe and we dip...then rise, then dip, then rise, then dip into a spectrum of wonderment and awe and it's all I can do to stay upright, to not lie back and just..._be._

Toothless glances back at me, like he's smug.

I press my forehead to his spine and try to keep the feeling in me, try to place it somewhere deep inside.

After a while- minutes? Days?- we break the clouds into the first watery rays of dawn and I close my eyes. I let Toothless fly us home, me occasionally feeling the pressure in my foot to lift or stall, but I keep my eyes closed.

I keep my eyes closed until we land, until I hear Hiccup's pounding footsteps and him yelling my name, until Toothless rolls me off his back, gently. My feet land on soft dirt.

"Are you okay? Vel, _are you okay?_" I feel Hiccup catch my shoulders and shake me. "_Vel?_"

And then I open my eyes.

"I don't ever want to forget," I say. "Not ever."

Hiccup smiles his crooked, relieved smile.

"Don't worry," he says. "You won't."

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><p><strong>I'm really excited for this story! I've written more than 40 pages for you guyes- will update after debate fanatics calm and when I have time to proofread. I really get inspiration from music, and the tone in my story will keep changing as I experiment a bit :) Highly recommend the soundtrack, especially to fellow authors...but not exclusively. <strong>

**As always, thanks for reading and leave a review!**


	4. Don't Give Up

**A pretty long chapter for you all in celebration of early Thanksgiving! **

**Song credits: "Sweet Ophelia", Zella Day (2014)**

**Enjoy!**

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><p><em>"<em>_Sweet Ophelia,_

_When young blood escapes_

_Vows that break_

_Go up, up away"_

"It was like...like he _read_ me," I say quietly. My boots are dried and stiff, crunching over pine needles and branches as Hiccup and I make our way back to Berk. "His tail was stuck in the water and I tried to help but I couldn't, and suddenly he was free—"

I think about how Toothless looked at me, _saw _me.

"It was like he understood," I continue, softer. "And then I was free."

"It's a dragon thing, I guess," Hiccup says, smiling a little like he understands. "You're something though- it took me weeks until Toothless let me touch him, let alone _ride_ him—" He looks at me curiously. "Is it a female thing, maybe? Did you eat fish this morning? Wash your hair?"

"Weeks," I say blankly. "_That's_ where you've been vanishing to?"

"Did you wear cotton? Bathe in fish oil- You notice when I vanish?" he says, looking at me again with such asking that it makes my face burn. "Was it the lack of chaos? Was it that noticeable? _Oh gods_..." Hiccup groans. "Does my _dad_ know?"

"No," I say, still not looking at him straight. I kick a rock as we walk. "It's just me."

"Phew, that's a relief." I glance up, and he turns forward again. "If Dad found Toothless—"

We near the edge of the wood. I shush him as Hilda walks by, humming and carrying a pail of yak milk from the stables.

"If Dad found out he'd _flip_ out," Hiccup finishes in a whisper. He looks at me.

"So we won't tell him," I whisper back.

We hurry quietly around the animal stalls and run in plain sight up the hill. We skirt along the pathway and come to Hiccup's house, then both yawn at the same time. After such an excitement, the only thing I can think of is my bed and sleeping until it's dark.

"Hide your book," I say, rubbing my eyes. "That Night Fury drawing had me concerned for you."

Hiccup nods. Then, "I can walk you home...if you want."

"No, it's alright," I say quickly, remembering his stealthy bucket-kicking racket-making "sneaking around" last night. Or was it the night before? Last _week_?

"Well...see ya," Hiccup says. Then, suddenly shy, "And um...Vel?"

I brush my hair out of my face to squint in the sun. "Mm?"

Hiccup plays with the fur on his vest, green eyes meeting mine, darting away. "What uh...what're you going to tell Astrid?"

I wake up. "Do you want me to tell Astrid?"

Hiccup looks uncomfortable. "Well, no. Actually, yes- I mean, if she tries to go hunt Toothless- on second thought, no. Yeah, no."

I open my mouth, then close it. "So...no."

"Yes. I mean- no. Don't tell Astrid."

I give him a thin-lipped look. "I wasn't going to, Hiccup."

"Oh," he says, disappointed and relieved. "That's...good, now isn't it? _Wellll_ look at the time. See you later, Vel!"

"See you," I say, but he's already vanished inside the house.

_Astrid_, I think, frowning.

I turn and walk down the hill, picking leaves out of my fur cowl. _Now why would he want to tell Astrid? To impress her? _I almost smack my forehead. _Gods darn me. Hiccup and Astrid—_

"Hey, Velekha! Gimme a hand, would you?"

Tuffnut.

"Wasn't I 'Useless' yesterday?" I call, turning around.

The twins and Fishlegs are pushing a wheelbarrow of twisted metal up the adjacent path. Ruffnut and Tuffnut fight over a handle while Fishlegs stands a little whiles away, counting his collectable cards.

"Someone got sassy," Ruffnut snickers, punching her brother in the arm.

"Ooh, _burn_ from a level 6 stoker class," Fishlegs offers, nose pressed to a card.

Tuffnut scoffs. "Whatever. C'mon, Velekha, let's just get this scrap metal to Gobber."

"I'd prefer to sleep," I tell him upfront, and do something different from my usual sigh and help. I walk away. I'm sure they're stunned, because the struggling noises stop, but I don't turn around. I find that I don't actually care.

The sun rises and the paths start to fill with Vikings- mostly women dragging pails of milk to their cottage and men gathering up the nets for the day's catch.

"Mornin', Valka," Gobber says, tipping his head.

I smile and wave, pretending I'm one of them.

My house is apart from the main path, slithering close to the cliff's edge. It squats, dilapidated and crooked with a sagging roof and singed bricks. It's probably the one house in all of Berk that hasn't been completely rebuilt at least five times. Dad knew how to build. I wipe my nose and undo the latch on the door and push it open.

Everything's dark, as usual, save the little window over the wooden desk. I hear a _shing shing _sound and look up.

"Vel," Astrid says. She's perched on our bed, sharpening her favorite axe on the top bunk. No light reaches her face, casting an eerie silhouette, but her tone's not a threatening one. Astrid puts down the sharpening stone and knits her brow. "We didn't see you wood chopping this morning."

"You usually don't," I say, plopping on my bunk to peel off my boots and leggings.

There's a pause, then a _woosh _and loud _CRACK _as she throws her axe into the far wooden beam of our house. The wood splinters off, matching dozens of other identical marks. She jumps off the bunk and turns to me, hands on hips.

"Where were you then?"

"Why do you care?" I throw my wet tunic on the ground and fish out another from under the bed. "Not like you usually do."

Astrid bristles and snarls, "I am your _sister_. Look at me, Vel. _Vel_—"

"Don't _call _me that," I say, whipping around, suddenly angry. "_Don't _call_ me that_."

She grabs my arm so hard then raises her arm like she's about to slap me and I start to get scared, but suddenly, she looks down and stops. She glances over my bare arms and legs. Her blue eyes widen.

There're scratches and snips and scars from my run and tumble down the cove. Bruises cast shadows along my wrist like kisses. The cut from where the pipe slashed me has reopened, bleeding over her hand.

"Gods," Astrid says, quieter. "What _happened?_"

"Nothing," I say, snatching my arm back and pulling on a gray tunic.

Astrid presses her lips into a thin line like she wants to say something, but I say, I say—

"Just- just _stop_, okay?"

And _darn me_, my voice cracks from the tiredness and the lying. "I'm just really tired."

She opens her mouth, but I turn away and crawl under my blankets, nose to the wall. After a little while, I hear Astrid yank her axe out of the wall and slam the door shut as she leaves- probably going to throw heavy objects or kill trees or other Viking things. Viking things that I wouldn't understand.

I roll my knees into my chest and close my eyes. I try to sleep.

But I don't: I dream.

I dream about Ophelia.

* * *

><p><em>Before Dad was burned to a crisp during a dragon raid and Mom threw herself off a cliff the morning after, I had a little sister.<em>

_"__Ophelia," I say, poking a finger into her mouth. _

_She coos in a way only little babies and lambs can and sucks my fingernail. I giggle. Six-year-old me thinks my baby sister's the cutest thing in the world. A pair of gray eyes peer up at me, then start to water, not tasting milk. _

_"__Mom!" I yell. "She's hungry!" _

_"__Isn't she always," Mom replies, pausing from churning butter and wiping her hands on her skirt. She scoops Ophelia up and holds her to her chest. "You and Astrid get some wood for the fire," Mom tells me. She squints out the window. "It looks like a cold one tonight."_

_"'__kay," I say. "ASTRID!"_

_"__Hush!" Mom says crossly as Ophelia starts crying her weird, breathy cry. "Good Odin...run along and find her. Be a good girl, Velekha."_

_I pout. "But my special name, Mama."_

_She almost smiles. "Vel. Go get your sister, Vel."_

_I nod and leave the house, six-year-old me with a swagger in my step._

_It's cloudy today. It can't be afternoon yet, but the sky's almost black. The wind tastes like a storm, but it rushes my hair out, fanning strands of brownish red on that go on for days. I splay out my arms and swoop down the dirt path, spinning. Vikings laugh, and sometimes I fall, but I'm flying for real if I tilt my head and spin around really fast—_

_"__Vel!" Tuffnut says, picking his nose. He and Ruffnut hold a bucket of yak milk, fighting for the handle. "Help me, wouldya?" _

_"__Mom asked _me_," Ruffnut says. _

_"__No, Mom asked _me_," Tuffnut insists. _

_I watch as they squabble, then swirl a finger in the thick milk. I stick my finger in my mouth. "Mm," I say. "It's sweet!"_

_Ruffnut and Tuffnut stop their fighting and soon we're scooping up handfuls of sweet milk, licking it straight from the bucket pretending to be dragons, until the twins' mother comes and whoops us, one each._

_I run down the trail, wiping my mouth with palms stinging. _

_I find Astrid crouched on the side of the path up near the chieftain's house. Her white hair's braided in two plaits, and she moodily draws with a stick. She casts looks at where Stoick the Vast's boy, Hiccup, plays on the grass by himself._

_"__Mom wants us to get firewood," I say, panting, because for some reason, it always gets kinda hard for me to breathe when I run. Mom says it doesn't matter. Astrid says it makes me special._

_My sister huffs, watching as Hiccup tinkers with a little catapult-thing made of leather and sticks in the grass. He puts a pebble in it and cuts the leather, sending the rock _whoosh_ing...straight through the open window of the blacksmith's forge. _

_There's a loud _OW _and a string of accented cursing from Gobber. _

_"__HICCUP!" he roars from inside._

_Hiccup kicks the evidence into the ground and runs away._

_Astrid watches, smiling but trying hard to frown._

_"__You could just ask to play with him," I say. "Me and Hiccup play dragons all the time."_

_"__Ew, gross!" Astrid says, but watches Hiccup disappear into the woods thoughtfully._

_That night, the raid is announced without warning. The black clouds hide the shapes of a hundred dragons: dozens of Monstrous Nightmares, handfuls of Gronckles, even a few Scauldrons. And one Night Fury. _

_"__GET IN THE HOUSE!" my dad roars, nearly throwing me from where I'm playing in front of our house to my mother. "Astrid? ASTRID?"_

_"__Out by the chieftain's house," I say, panicked. "Daddy, Daddy, Astrid—"_

_Ophelia starts crying, and I start crying too, and my mother just crouches down and whispers prayers to the gods. _

_The wind slams our door and puts out the candles._

* * *

><p><em>There're monstrous noises, firelight blazing across our house, and the screaming of women and men, Viking and dragon. At one point, our thatched roof lights, but Mom has a bucket ready and flings it up, squelching the flame, but dowsing us too. We shiver in the dark. After what feels like forever, our door bursts open and Mom lifts her axe, but it's just Dad, beard singed and Astrid crying in his arms. <em>

_"__Stay, Daddy," I plead. _

_He bristles, inflating big and broad- nothing like Mama, who's slim and tall- but like a mountain. Big and broad and stubborn. _

_Like a dragon. _

_"__We're Vikings," Dad says loudly. "We don't give up, Velekha."_

_"__My special name," I say, but he's gone._

* * *

><p><em>The morning comes without warning- Astrid's foot is pressed into my face from where we fell asleep in a pile. Light pours in our window. Ophelia's crying.<em>

_"__Mom," I say, my mouth full of cotton and spit, but I run into it as hard as I can. "Mom!"_

_I sit up, fast. _

_Mom's gone._

_Dad's gone. _

_Astrid snores._

_And Ophelia just cries and cries and cries._

* * *

><p><em> "<em>_We commit you to the earth," Astrid says, chin wobbling. _

_She throws her pile of dirt over the sheets, sheets with bulges underneath- bulges that are our parents. Were._

_Dad was downed trying to get the last few sheep into the sheds. _

_In the end, Mom committed herself to the waves. _

_Stoick the Vast looks solemnly at me. _

_I'm supposed to say something. Gobber told me what I'm supposed to say- the thing that the children of dead Vikings are supposed to say, but I forgot it. I didn't even hear it._

_The elder pours soft soil into my hands and gives me a sad smile. _

_Like _keep your honor. _Like _be strong_._

_Because we're Vikings and we're supposed to be strong._

_I set my mouth and throw the dirt. _

_There's a little gasp as the pile lands on the ground at my feet. Astrid's mouth opens in shock. _

_Cause I missed. _

_Vikings are supposed to be brave and broad and never give up. _

_And I missed_

_"__May your name echo in the halls of Valhalla," Stoick the Vast announces. _

_He beats his shield with his axe._

_Hiccup watches me, clutching the hem of his father's cloak. I look at him and he looks away._

* * *

><p><em>I put Ophelia right next to me, my eyes lined up with hers. <em>

_She threw up yak milk and cried all day. She wouldn't even take milk from Hilda, who had her own baby last moon._

_I hope my sister can be brave. Both of them._

_I close my eyes and try to ignore the sniffling from the bunk above me. _

_As Astrid just cries and cries and cries—_

* * *

><p>I jolt up.<p>

Orange sunset lights the house. Everything is quiet.

I put my head on my knees and just breathe.

"Vel!"

I sit up.

Someone's knocking on the door.

I get up, wipe my face, and pull it open.

"Vel!" Hiccup says. "Today's surplus day, so..."

He looks down.

I look down.

I'm not wearing pants.

I slam the door on his face and sag against the door. I blush furiously, then start laughing silently. Thank gods the tunic covers my important parts, but it stops mid-thigh. Even though Astrid wears skirts higher, it feels scandalous for me. I yank on my leggings and, for good measure, tie on my braided belt and fur cowl so I'm fully dressed.

Cursing myself, I open the door again.

"_Ee_," Hiccup says, then blows out through his mouth when he sees I'm fully clothed. "So...surplus day," Hiccup says, voice higher than usual. "The others are sorting supplies. Do you want to go find Toothless—"

"Yeah," I say automatically. "Yeah, I just..."

I look back into the room, puzzled, feeling as if I've forgotten something...

"Are you okay?" Hiccup says. "You look like you were—"

I wipe my face and my eyes feel wet and crusty.

"I think I had a nightmare," I say, confused. "I don't remember what it was about, though."

"What everyone around here dreams about," Hiccup offers. He smiles his crooked smile that makes me smile.

"And what's that?"

"Dragons, of course."

I laugh.

* * *

><p><strong>Review? :)<strong>


	5. The Calling of the Beautiful

**Hey, kids. **

**A fluffy, lovey dovey chapter for you all. Good news: I've finally begun to think about where this story is headed. So far planned: jumping into Vel's "Viking" life next chapter, dragon training next next, and who knows? **

**Maybe she'll even train a dragon?!**

**Big motivation for this chapter was "Romantic Flight" from the soundtrack. I know it's "Astrid's" song, but I hope it can be Vel's too :)**

* * *

><p>One second we're flying and the next falling.<p>

"_Hiccup!_" I scream as we hurtle towards the ocean. I clutch to dear life onto the empty saddle in front of me, my breath torn from me.

Hiccup spirals in the air below us, headfirst, eyes closed.

"Toothless, Toothless, oh _Odin, _Toothless..." I lean close to his warm back so I don't get ripped off.

Toothless roars and flaps his wings until we're falling too, matching eyes with his rider. The water comes on, fast, fast, _faster_, and I slap my hands over my eyes but can't help but peek—

A hundred paces from impact and Hiccup's eyes fly open, eyes containing such green hue and happiness and wonder that I realize, _this is Hiccup. _He angles himself carefully, one hand grabbing the saddle. Then, with twenty paces left, peels us out of the dive into a climb so steep I scramble to grab onto his shoulders.

"I...can't...breathe," I manage.

And he flicks his foot and we just _soar_.

The sun is shining, stunning, but it doesn't seem to bother Toothless. In fact, he cries with happiness.

"Now bud," Hiccup chuckles, hair a mess. "That was fun, but we don't want to scare her—"

And we crash into a barrel dive- my vision spinning, my hands holding Hiccup tight, my blood pounding in my ears and heart, my head suddenly too heavy, my eyes unable to close despite the dizzy, and, _and_—

I whoop and laugh, feeling my body swirl like a ribbon through the air.

We swoop over the ocean, me laughing like a maniac. I press my forehead onto Hiccup's warm back and just shake my head, over and over. "Hiccup," I breathe. "Hiccup..."

"Hey, bud," Hiccup laughs, patting his side. "What do you know...she liked it!"

"I did!" I laugh. "Thank you, Toothless."

The Fury snorts, but gives me a pleased eye. And we climb.

* * *

><p>We swoop so close to the ocean Toothless' talons stroke the surface. I look down at the reflection.<p>

There's Hiccup, and a stranger sitting behind him.

She has wild hair like burnt auburn, flying loose from her lower back. She has a slim chin and shallow cheeks, but with these eyes the color of storms- the types that bring rain and life and mirth. Her arms lift above her head, stroking the air, feeling it, _being _it—

I look at her and she looks back.

And we just laugh and laugh and laugh.

* * *

><p>We fly for a long time, past Berk, past rock, past everything until all we see is ocean and sky.<p>

Islands appear and disappear below us- many no bigger than a mountain and others that just stretch infinitely in one direction past the horizon.

"We could explore one day," I say, leaning back on my arms. "We could make our own book of dragons, we could fly away and—"

"No," Hiccup says. "Berk has a lot of work to do."

I sit up. "How come?"

"Berk has a long way to go," he shrugs.

"What do you mean?"

"I...just mean that...who knows? Maybe we can change things."

"Oh, Hiccup...They _won't_ change." Hiccup stiffens, and I put a hand on his shoulder. "You _do_ know that, right?"

"Who's to say?" he responds, and turns to look at me with these bright, bright green eyes. "I know it's impossible. My dad...the other Vikings...I don't know. All I know is I'm not leaving." Hiccup smiles a little and puts a hand on Toothless. "I also know I'm not letting Toothless get hurt."

Toothless makes a pleased sound.

"Such a history of hatred," I say, thinking all of a sudden about my own parents. "Such a long line of bloodshed."

"Then we'll learn how to forgive," Hiccup laughs, patting Toothless twixt his ears. "We could learn a little from dragons."

I look at the setting sun. "We could," I admit.

"And...after?"

I'm so blind about the thought of after that nothing connects. _After _Vikings stop killing dragons? Will there even _be _an after?

"Mm," is all I say, looking over the sea that stretches on for miles and miles.

I feel Hiccup turn and look at me.

The vast expanses call and resonate somewhere deep inside. To think: there's a world here, full of adventures and life and beauty, and I'm stuck on Berk. I don't belong. People say Hiccup doesn't either, but Hiccup is brave, and constant through trial and trial and _give up _and _useless child _and—

Maybe Hiccup _is_ a Viking, after all.

I- well, I just want to fly away.

And the fact that I can't do that hurts me more than I can say.

"Vel?" Hiccup says.

"Please don't call me that," I say, pressing my fingers to my eyes. "Please, please don't."

"Hey, it's okay," Hiccup says, and I hear him readjust his legs so he's turned to me. "It's okay, Vel, _you're okay_."

He talks to me gently, like I'm a dragon, and I _feel_ like a dragon without wings- scared and trapped and...and there's _rage _here too...

"Hey," I hear again, and hands are touching my wrists, gently, before grasping them more firmly. "Just..._look_."

I let him guide my hands, let them fall.

And I look.

We've broken the clouds again, so high up it's hard to breathe, but what takes my breath is the feeling. The feeling of _color_- the warmness of it, like it's placed itself into my heart. The feeling of _love_- the steadiness of it, the feeling of my blood coursing with each beat of Toothless' wings. The love of freedom.

And I take a breath of the most breathless air I've ever tasted.

Hiccup admires the view and lifts a few fingers. Clouds trail through his fingers, touching my face like secrets. For the first time I realize I'm seeing him. He's so _strong_, he is- him with his narrow shoulders and sharp chin. Freckles dot his face like stars, and suddenly I feel the urge to touch his face, to take him and breathe him in and—

The idea makes me breathless in a new way.

"Hiccup," I say, and he glances at me with a smile that's so glad it makes me smile.

I look behind him and nearly fall off of Toothless.

A flock of dragons- _dozens _of dragons- approach us far from the left. Their wings ripple with electricity, lightning seeming to be drawn from the clouds into their bodies. They're miles away, but I feel the static crackle twixt my fingers and in my hair.

"Hiccup," I breathe, but Hiccup's already resituated and shouts over the wind.

"Let's disappear, bud!"

Toothless folds his wings and we dive back through the clouds. I sputter against the cold, and thunder rumbles near my ear. When we break through, I look up, seeing the dark clouds beat with electricity. Dangerous, yet..._electric. _Like a dragon. Like _freedom_.

"Skrills," I say in awe, shaking my head. "I've never seen so many of them before."

"To be fair, we haven't seen dragons before," Hiccup chuckles. "Not _really_."

I laugh and Toothless makes these guttural sounds in his throat with glee.

He folds his wings again, sending us spiraling like the evening sun.

* * *

><p>I watch the fire pop.<p>

"Throwing up," I say thoughtfully.

"Loud noises," Hiccup says.

"_Loud noises?_" I laugh.

"You're afraid of _throwing up!_" Hiccup counters. I push him and he pretends to be mortally wounded.

"Deathblow!" he says, rolling away.

He stops at Toothless' feet. The dragon peers down at Hiccup for a beat then licks his face.

"Oh, bud- stop! _Toothless!_"

I cover my smile.

We're back at the cove. I warm my feet by the fire and brush out my hair. The stars dance, and night falls early tonight- the marking of Berk's winter. Tonight, the air is cool but not unpleasantly so, and I wonder briefly if Astrid will be worried, but—

Toothless and Hiccup start to wrestle.

-but I don't want to think about sad things right now.

"Ooh...the Viking has the upper hand!" Hiccup shouts, pummeling Toothless' wings with his fists. "And _oh! The irony!_"

Toothless bats Hiccup gently before plopping his head on his rider's chest with an _oomph! _

"The horror...the horror!" Hiccup chuckles, pinned on the ground. "The legendary struggle of Berk begins- oh, _gross! _ Toothless!"

The Fury licks his rider's face with gusto before rolling over, making that deep, laughing sound again. I laugh too, and they look over, like they'd forgotten I was there.

Hiccup looks, and doesn't look away.

I blink then turn back towards the fire. I braid my hair from one ear to the other, over my crown, then back down the side. The fire flickers and I start seeing spots, but the heat burns the moisture from my eyes as I remember being six-year-old me, restless and sitting on my bunk and complaining as Astrid tried to braid my hair.

"My mom used to call it a wreath braid," I tell Hiccup quietly. "I'd always thought it was so pretty. But I would never sit still for long enough."

I plait the rest over my shoulder and tie it with a strip of leather in my pocket.

Hiccup doesn't say anything, just looks.

"What?" I glance at him then back at the fire. Back at him. "Hiccup, what is it?"

Suddenly Toothless mewls and pushes him, and Hiccup lands hard next to me, bumping my shoulder.

"_Ow!_"

"Hiccup?"

He blinks and opens his mouth up and down like a fish.

"It's...just that uh, you're...uh..."

I tilt my head at him.

"You have ears!" Hiccup says loudly, suddenly standing up. "You always wear your hair down, I forgot you have ears. _Wellll_, look at the time—"

"Oh, no, you're not pulling one of those again," I say, getting up and crossing my arms playfully. "Mostly because I have no idea which direction Berk is."

Hiccup gives me an uncomfortable look and it makes me laugh. I punch his arm. "What is it, seriously?"

Hiccup's not much taller than me but his expression adds volumes. He meets big green eyes with my gray and coughs once, twice.

I raise an eyebrow. "Hiccup...?"

"Well, er...you're..."

Suddenly Toothless collapses and starts rolling on the ground, making laughing sounds.

"You're beautiful," he blurts.

I blink. "What?"

"You're- Toothless thinks you're good-looking," Hiccup says, clearly uncomfortable. The Fury looks up at his name. Hiccup blabbers on, starting to pace. "I mean compared to other female Vikings with their overwhelmingly big—"

"Dying alone," I blurt.

"-beards," Hiccup finishes. He stops midstride. "What?"

My eyes widen as I realize what I just said. The words bubble in my mouth.

"My greatest fear," I explain. "Viking tradition," I say, suddenly shy. "I'm not strong."

Hiccup looks at me for a moment.

"Being left behind," he says.

"Oh." I rub my arm. "Why?"

Hiccup shrugs and scratches his neck. "Ehhh...my mom, probably. She..."

"Yeah," I interrupt so he doesn't have to say it. "Me too. Ophelia..."

"I know," Hiccup says quickly so I don't have to either.

We stand quietly out of respect and politeness. I've never told anyone that before...and something tells me Hiccup hasn't either. _Dying alone. _Viking tradition dictates that the weak die alone. I'd always thought myself as so weak...

"If it counts for anything, you won't die alone," Hiccup says, and I start.

I look at him. "What makes you say that?"

He shrugs. "I think you'll die surrounded by family one summer day at the ripe old age of thirty—"

I give a bark of laughter.

"-not necessarily happy, but definitely content."

"Well, I think I'll never leave you," I joke, then shut up quick.

Hiccup looks at me sideways.

"You'd...make such a mess I'd always find you," I say quickly.

Then I give a very unladylike snort and start laughing.

"What?" Hiccup asks, smiling even though he doesn't know what I'm laughing at. "What? Is my face that funny, Vel? Is that it?"

"You called me pretty," I laugh, doubling over. "And I told you I didn't want to die alone!"

"Oh," Hiccup says sarcastically, turning a little pink along his freckles. "Actually Toothless called you beautiful, but—"

"Well, _Toothless _is wonderful," I say, looking up at him. "He really knows what to say."

Hiccup's eyes meet mine. They blink. The corner of his lip lifts.

"Hey, Velekha," he says, breath warm on my forehead.

I smile the kind of smile that could go on for days and days and days.

"Hi," I say. "Just call me Vel."

* * *

><p><strong>Awwww. <strong>

**Insight onto daily Viking life next chapter. Have a great Thanksgiving, everyone!**


	6. Broken Bones

**Phew. Typing is hard, turkey tastes good, and this chapter is all about Vel.**

**Happy day-before-Thanksgiving! If you happen to be reading this on 11/27/2014, GET OFF FANFICTION AND FIND A FAMILY MEMBER, FRIEND, OR SOMEONE IN NEED AND SPREAD THE LOVE AND GRATITUDE THANKSGIVING IS ALL ABOUT.**

**I love you all.**

**Cheers!**

* * *

><p>Astrid shakes me awake before it's properly light outside.<p>

"Rebuilding," is all she says before grabbing her axe and slamming the door on her way out. I hear her muttering, "Blasted dragons..." and some other less generous phrases.

The sound of a beating hammer nearby makes it impossible to sleep anymore. I groan and roll out of bed.

Everything is sore from my face to my toes. I shuffle in front of the little mirror and gingerly touch a bruise on my chin. I think about how it didn't hurt yesterday. I think about how I didn't feel anything yesterday, really, just how Hiccup took me on a dragon ride, and how Hiccup—

I stare hard at my reflection. Then I do something I haven't done in a long time.

I brush my hair and braid it.

Outside, the air is brisk and I blow warm breath in puffs of white like I'm a dragon. The town rings with clanging of tools and yells for supplies and an extra hand. I see Astrid pounding away at the roof of Uncle Finn's house, face pissed off. I see Ruffnut and Tuffnut wheel a cart of thick logs down the hill, fighting, as usual, over a handle. I don't see Hiccup.

I walk down the path to the main plaza, staying out of everyone else's way.

"Hey, Velekha," Snotlout yells at me, carrying a pile of bricks. His tone's a loud, boastful thing that's usually reserved for Astrid and Ruffnut. "You know your hair looks—"

He trips, bricks bouncing down the side of the hill. His face pokes up, red.

I smile and offer a hand. "Thanks."

He looks at it for a second, but takes it.

I cut across a waterway to make my way to the main plaza. Most shops are unopened, as it's rebuilding day, but people swarm in and out of a thick building leaning next to the Great Hall. I run across the square, squeezing my way up in line and entering the musty room.

"I think I got a dragon bite—"

"Does this _look_ like a dragon bite? Stay away from squirrels, Trek- _Velekha!_ Get over 'ere!"

I scramble over the counter and give Phlegma an apologetic smile.

"You've not been 'ere for _two days_," she says crossly, handing Trek the Terrible a little bag of gnadder seeds to fight infection. "We've a slew of new business after the raid. Canute fell off the guard tower, Dag got 'is head knocked round real good, and Asger the Angry got 'is arm stuck in a dragon! 'n it didn't come out!"

"Sorry, sorry," I say, putting a kettle on the fire to boil. I slip on my cloth apron. "Who needs me first?"

Phlegma finishes dealing with another costumer and her expression softens. "Asger. Fever's got 'im good from 'is arm. Gnadders 'n fishgrass 'n—"

"-ginger root, all steamed in water for a poultice," I say, grabbing the necessary jars from the giant span of bookshelf. Phlegma grunts in affirmation and hands out raw potatoes and shells of honey for Vikings with burns.

I take a pinch of gnadders out of the jars and grind them in a wooden bowl. Plucking out a few blades from the basket, I roll strands of fishgrass in my hands and they break, releasing a sweet, tickly smell. I slice a piece of ginger and soak the ingredients in hot water, mixing until the poultice turns smelly and rich green in color. Bowl in one hand and roll of bandages in the other, I snatch a clean rag and part the curtains into the back room.

Phlegma believes sunlight and wind heals, so the little room is bright and lined with uncovered windows. Our four cots are full. Three Vikings are sleeping and snoring away, but one is looking out the window.

"Mornin' Asger," I say to him. "Mind if I take a look?"

Asger just grunts in reply.

I put my stuff down and kneel. When I lift the blanket, it's the smell that hits me- the rotten skin smell that makes my skin crawl and my forehead knit together. Little beads of sweat pop up on his skin, trickling into his beard.

Asger's arm is chopped off above the elbow. I recognize cauterized flesh and Phlegma's long stitches. Usually, the wound is burned to stop the bleeding, and it heals under the stitches, but his is turning bright red...so red that it's frightening.

"We'll work on it," I say, like we're talking about learning how to read, not an infected amputation. There's a cool bucket of water with a rag swimming in it and I drain the cloth, then press it to his forehead.

"We'll get this devil out of you," I say, clearing my throat. My hands fold the clean rag in half and scoop up some of the poultice. "You ready?"

Asger just grunts in reply.

I press the rag onto the infection and despite his vastness, despite his grandeur and Viking-ness, Asger the Angry jerks back a bit. I wait patiently until he takes a breath and places his stub back into the cloth. It stains red fast...faster than it should. Much more red than it should.

I take a breath.

"I saw your wife this mornin'," I tell him. I air out the wound, then scoop up another handful of poultice. I place it onto his wound, gently, but he cringes. I swallow once, twice. "Hilda...was fetching the milk," I continue. "Out so early the birds hadn't even started crying yet."

Asger grunts and turns back to the window.

I shake out the grimy bits from the rag. "Bitta five yet?"

For a moment I'm sure he's not going to answer, but he rasps, "Six. Winter comes and she's seven."

"Oh," I say, swirling the bloody rag into the dark water. I place it firmly onto the stump one more time. "She like her ma?"

"Exactly," he grunts, and I feel his muscles flex like he's proud. "Strong as an ox, small as a Terrible Terror."

"Breathes fire too?" I smile. I start to wrap up his arm.

Asger the Angry scowls a little bit less.

I tear off the roll of bandages with my teeth and tuck the loose end in on itself. Wringing out the cool cloth, I replace it onto his burning forward and as I get up, Asger says, he says—

"Your honor, Velekha."

I stop, because that's not just _thank you_.

It's something you say after something big.

It's something you say when you slay your first dragon.

I nod and press my lips together, trying to breathe.

"Your honor as well, Asger the Angry."

He just grunts and stares out the window.

* * *

><p>By midday I've cleaned multiple wounds, applied a million different poultices, and rewrapped several burns. When I've tended the major patients, I sit at the counter in the healing house front and help Phlegma pass out burn treatments, light poultices, and stitch up deep cuts.<p>

At the hottest part of the day, the number of injured finally trickles to a slow. I wash my hands of blood and scrub the herbs from under my fingernails.

Phlegma watches, nose crinkled as I lounge and tear off a piece of roasted fish.

"What?" I say, voice muffled.

"Treatin' meat and skin all day," Phlegma shakes her head at me. "Tearin' into meat and skin at night. And they say you're a slight little thing who can't stomach a little barf."

I look at my fish, pleased.

* * *

><p>Phlegma takes me to gather more gnadders and fishgrass, leaving her daughter to man the healing house.<p>

"Will Niamh be alright on her own?" I ask, looking back.

Niamh waves at us and grins as we walk away from the town. She cranes her neck to see out the window, and her feet don't even reach the floor from the stool.

"She's a Viking," Phlegma says dismissively, marching through a streak of burnt grass. "With a natural feel for healin'." She looks at me sideways. "Little like you, Vel. The village Elder's been makin' the signs for you and the other youth. Astrid's a sure-fire shield maiden, Fishlegs can document dragons, Snotlout and Ruffnut and Tuffnut...doin' what they'll do. But who I wonder about is _you._" She looks at me with brown eyes like oak or strong tea.

"So the question is, Vel, you thought of your life after?"

My mouth suddenly feels stale as I think about riding dragons.

I think about Hiccup.

I _don't_ think about riding away.

"After?" I mutter, kicking aside a burnt log. "Why does everyone keep talking about _after?_"

"I meant after dragon trainin'," Phlegma blinks at me. "You've been with me since you were a little one." We step over another water ditch.

"Well, littl_er_," she chuckles.

We've reached the edge of the wood. This high up the hill, the clanging of hammers and building is faint, softer than the bird trills above our head. A row of low gnadder bushes grow in the shade. I bend down and wiggle my woven basket under one of them, and shake the branch. Little poppyseed-sized gnadders fall. I move on to the next one.

"I don't know, Phlegma," I finally answer. "Honest to Odin, I've no idea."

_I want to travel. I want to _see.

"Stay 'n be a healer," Phlegma offers, shaking a bush a few down. "There's not much for you if you don't want to kill dragons," she says.

I look up fast. "How do you know I don't want to kill dragons?"

Phlegma just chuckles and moves onto the next bush.

"You know, a long, long time ago, Stoick had a wife. Pretty thing, prettier than me," she laughs, gesturing at her broad figure. "Pretty like a flower. We ah...we used to think she was weak. You see, she didn't like the raids." Phlegma puts down her basket and just squats there. "She didn't like killin'. Anythin'. Pretty thing, but wouldn't kill. Not many...not many of us liked that."

Phlegma wipes her nose and I pretend not to see her wipe her eyes too. I shake another gnadder bush and the seeds patter into the basket like rain.

"Well, she was snatched up during a raid when Hiccup was just a babe and your ma was still big like a sack of potatoes. But you..."

Phlegma looks up at me and smiles. "You've got that feel about ya, that same feel Hiccup's ma had. She was a healer too."

I blink at her. "Really?"

"Truly," Phlegma nods. "Finest in Berk. Who do you think stitched up all of Stoick's scars?" She chuckles and sifts a few leaves out of her basket. "Pretty thing had a feel for fixin'. Not houses or weapons, no. Fixin' bones and hearts. Healers need that feel. It's somethin' special. Somethin' _good_."

I realize my throat's closed up.

It's quiet until I realize I'm supposed to say something.

"Thanks, Phlegma," I say, turning to a bush further down the row so I can just breathe. "That's...that's..."

For some reason I can't find the words. I'd always imagined that'd be the kind of thing my ma would tell me. Tell me I'm special, not a freak. Strong, not destined to die alone. A healer: powerful in the way my hands staunch a wound, gentle in the way they tie a bandage.

"Thanks, Phlegma," I say again.

"Mm," I hear her reply. Gnadders fall into her basket.

We're here, gathering gnadders and breathing.

Cause sometimes there's everything to say but you can't say everything so you just say nothing.

"Lots of gnadders this season," I say when my basket's a fingernail deep and the sun's swooping into the ocean.

"Lots," Phlegma agrees. "Lots. That's somethin' good."

"Something good," I say to myself, reminding myself, keeping it close. "I'm something good."

* * *

><p><strong>This chapter gives some insight also on Valka's character through Phlegma's memory. <strong>**I wanted Vel to have a filial figure around her, as I don't say much about Uncle Finn and Vel's parents are...well...dead. Phlegma's a minor character in the movies/television show, so I thought I would just give her a life of her own, her own story. **

**Continuation next chapter, along with Vel finding...a DRAGON?! **

**As always, I love, love, _love_ hearing what you guys have to say- positive, constructive, whatever. ****Review?**

**Have a great Thanksgiving!**


	7. Hips, Ribs, Heart

**Hi, lovelies!**

**Thanks for the support and reviews and favorites and follows through this mess of a story. I think I've finally decided where I want this story to go! Yayyyy for future planning! Much melodrama this chapter. Will not be so fluffy in the future. (who am I kidding I live for the fluff.)**

**Enjoy and leave a review! **

* * *

><p>Phlegma sends me to gather fishgrass up the hill while she returns to Niamh and our long-term patients. I wade through knee-high straw and stretch my legs, sore from kneeling.<p>

Past the old iron ore is an expanse of scraggly grass like an ocean. It crunches underfoot, bristly, rough...like us. Soon, the field slopes into a gentle hill. The grass comes to a short stop at the black rock cliffs, and I hoist my basket higher on my back and carefully pick my way down into the valley. The terrain's rocky, but a little ways down is the thicket of fishgrass, impossibly green and stiff, like toothpicks planted in the ground. I shift my boot and squint into the sun—

_WOOSH!_

My braid smacks me in the eye and I stumble back against the sudden gale, landing on my butt and sliding, rolling, tumble down the rocky slope.

I flip and land on something soft.

It groans and I look at it.

"Hiccup?" I say.

He cringes and squints up.

"Vel?"

I'm on top of him and breathing in his face and he's breathing in mine.

I sit up. There's a thick stripe of flattened fishgrass where Hiccup and Toothless crash-landed stretching from the edge of the valley fifty paces from me. Toothless rolls around, tongue flapping. The fishgrass snaps, releasing their sweet scents, and Toothless growls happily from inside his throat.

Hiccup sits up too and rolls a few blades experimentally in his fingers.

"Fishgrass," I explain, snapping a blade and bringing it to my nose. "We use it for fever. Phlegma says it grows where fish die. Says this whole valley used to be swollen in water when she was a girl."

"Fishgrass," Hiccup says thoughtfully. He holds a strand up to his eye. "Dragon nip?"

We watch as Toothless rolls over to us and shakes himself. He stomps a circle around Hiccup and I, then nudges my slightly crumpled basket with his nose.

"Nothing for you today," I say apologetically.

Toothless warbles and starts making a weird sound down his throat.

A half-eaten fish squelches on the grass. He looks at me with those big yellow eyes.

I crinkle my nose in a smile. "Oh, I'm okay."

Toothless snorts and shakes his head like I'm crazy for missing out, then carefully slurps it back up. "Clever boy," I say, and rub the scales twixt his eyes. Toothless makes a deep, content sound and lays his head by my lap, breath pressing like a warm hand on my knee.

He blinks at me, then closes his eyes.

I touch his ears and count the soft little spines on his head. "How did you ever find him, Hiccup?"

He laughs nervously. "Well, you know about his tail. I uh...caught a Night Fury. But it all worked out. Right, bud?"

Toothless opens his eyes and growls.

Hiccup sighs. "See? He's over it. We're fine."

"Yeah," I say, staring at Toothless' closed eyes. I soften. "And to think...we've been enemies all these years."

We just sit for a while, just quiet.

"Hey," Hiccup says, standing up slowly. "Hey, Vel!"

I look up, squinting against the sun. "What? What idea? What crazy idea do you got this time?"

"A good one," Hiccup says, rubbing his hands together. He smiles for effect, then bursts: "You can train your own dragon!"

I blink.

"You go so well with Toothless," Hiccup continues, pacing now. His arms wave to illustrate his points. "If you had your own dragon, everything would change!"

I raise an eyebrow. Then, seeing that he's serious, I snort. "Nothing would change. I'm a healer's apprentice, remember? Not, say...the _chieftain's son?_"

Hiccup decides to ignore that.

"A Zippleback? Nah, two heads are a bother to feed, not to mention favoritism...Gronckle? There're a lot of those..." he snaps his fingers. "That's it, then. You're getting a Gronckle."

"I'd be bored to death," I say sardonically, leaning against Toothless' sleeping frame. "No speed at all. And you're not giving up, are you?"

"A Nadder...even a Monstrous Nightmare?"

Suddenly, Hiccup claps and Toothless jolts in his sleep. "I got it. A _Timberjack. _Oh ho, you'll down forests like a guillotine. Dragons in Berk..." he rubs his hands together excitedly. "Don't you see what this could do for us, Vel?"

I press my mouth into a line. "Might as well go all out strike class," I say. "Maybe a Skrill. Velekha the Healer, riding the lightning."

"Maybe we'll find another Night Fury," Hiccup continues, and his eyes burn green, green, green. "Heck, we could discover a whole new class of dragons! Find new species...but first, we'll get a dragon for you to train—"

"-and I'll _fly_ _away_, Hiccup," I say. It comes out louder than I expected.

Hiccup stops and looks at me.

I beat my hand against the grass and look up at him, trying to keep the whine out of my voice. "I don't _want _to ride a Timberjack and cut wood for bonfires, or use Gronckles to start kitchen fires, Hiccup. That's _you_. _I_ want—"

But I look at his face and can't find the words.

"_I _want—"

I realize all I want is to just...belong. And I realize that that's precisely what Hiccup's trying to give me, but I don't _want_ any of it. So all that's left to do is shake my head.

I stand up and Toothless lifts his head in confusion.

"All that inventing and making this place better...that's _you_," I say again, not looking at him. "I just—"

"Just what, Vel?" he insists, taking a step closer. "I want to know—"

"That's the problem," I suddenly snap, suddenly angry, suddenly hating how he always has to _fix _things, has to _ruin them_, has to _mock me like this_. "I don't know either. It's not _me _you're looking for to join you in this ridiculous mission of yours. You will get _hurt_, Hiccup. And _gods_ know I'm not going to be there when you do."

I start up the rocky cliff again. My foot slips and I curse, but keep moving until I feel loose soil under my fingers and pry myself up.

I hear flapping wings but by then I'm running back to the village. My nearly empty basket bounces on my back as I stumble over weeds and rocks. I hobble up the last few paces, hugging a stitch in my side and coughing.

"Sweet Valhalla," Phlegma says, suddenly appearing out the back. "Get in here, child."

She half-carries me into the back room and sits me on one of the empty beds. "Your lungs?"

I nod and focus on breathing.

Phlegma drags the basket off my back and glances in it, not seeing fishgrass. But the moment I start getting some real air in me, I start shaking again and crying and hiccupping and Phlegma just dumps the basket of gnadders on the ground, forgotten.

"Pretty thing, what's in your heart?" she says, eyes creased, taking my shoulders.

I shake my head and keep shaking it. Tears dribble down my face.

"Pretty thing?" she urges.

"Hiccup," I say, wiping my face with my sleeve. "We were talking and we just—"

"The guts," Phlegma says suddenly, rising with her hand placed threateningly on her dagger. "The _guts_. Why, that boy—"

"Oh no," I say, suddenly pleading, grabbing her arm. "It wasn't...it wasn't anything _important_, Phlegma, I swear it. I'm just being stupid...you know me."

She grunts. "Then you cry too much." But she lowers her hand and grabs my basket, disappearing with it through the curtains.

I wipe my face and try to reason with myself.

I'm not sad because I'm scared of training a dragon.

I'm also not sad about Hiccup planning my life. I trust him more than Astrid, more than Uncle Finn...maybe as much as I trust Phlegma.

I'm _upset _because Hiccup's planned his _own _future, and I can't picture myself in it. I don't even belong in a _hypothetical _world. I ball my fists up in my tunic. Phlegma's right. Where will I be _after_? Will there even _be _an after for me? If not, then where else is there besides this dusty island we call Berk? And that brings me back to training a dragon...

"Don't worry," a gruff voice says. Asger the Angry shifts on his cot near the window. "No worries, young Velekha. Odin's got plans for even the worst of us."

"Odin can stuff it," I mutter. "The way things have been going so far..."

Asger growls and I realize he's laughing. "Your honor and spirit, young Velekha. Your honor and spirit."

"And yours," I say, a little surprised.

But I look back and see he's fallen asleep. I get up and shuffle to his cot. My throat tightens. Sweat dribbles off his skin into his tangled beard even though it's not been five hours since I last saw him.

I lift up the blanket and see that Asger's arm burns red, red, red.

* * *

><p>I'm sitting back at home with a little jar of gnadders and a needle and thread, stitching myself back up from all the little scratches from my tumble with...<p>

I poke the needle through my arm and smile.

...a dragon.

The deepest ones are from the rocks in the cove. I tie the last stitch off and carefully snip the thread when Astrid bursts into the house like a thunderstorm.

Her hair's flyaway and smoking.

I stick the needle and the ball of thread into my pocket. I scramble to fetch her a bucket of water. "Snotlout set you on fire again?"

"Fishlegs," Astrid spits, slapping at her smoldering skirt. "Thought it would be _interesting _to summon a Whispering Death."

I use a bucket to draw water from the wheelbarrow in the corner and look up. "He _summoned_ a Whispering Death?"

"He dug the foundations of a house too deep," Astrid says crossly. "We all fell in one of its tunnels." She takes the water and dips her singed braid in. "Stoick the Vast and Uncle Finn managed to run the monster off a cliff. Darned beast burnt my new skirt," Astrid mutters.

I look at her with wide eyes. "What cliff?"

She narrows her eyes and flips her braid out of the water. "Down Terror Beach- _hey_, where're you going?!"

"Phlegma's," I lie. I grab a fish from our cutting board and run out the house.

* * *

><p>I'm not even thinking as I run down the hill. Terror Beach is all the way on the other side of the island. We hear stories about mad Vikings jumping off and cracking themselves open on the beach below. If a dragon fell—<p>

"Hiccup!" I yell, pounding on the blacksmith's window. "_Hiccup?_"

The boards creak open.

"Aye, Valka," Gobber says, a fire blazing inside and a piece of red metal resting on it. "What're you up to? Hiccup's up at the house—"

"Thanks," I breathe, taking off again.

I run up the sloping hill and knock on the door. I bounce on my heels for a solid ten seconds and suddenly I feel too prim, too proper, given the circumstances.

The door swings open.

"Hiccup—"

Stoick the Vast stands before me, seven feet tall and five feet wide. He looks over my head before he notices me standing, craning my head to peer up.

"Velekha Hofferson," he says, surprised.

"Where's Hiccup?" I plead, skipping the formalities. "Please, I need Hiccup—"

"Vel?" Hiccup turns the corner, chopped firewood in his arms. He drops it next to the house and runs over, brushing splinters all over his vest. He looks at me with asking but even though I need his help, I still can't look at him straight.

"Can we just go—" I murmur.

"OH," Stoick says suddenly, much too loud. He gives Hiccup a not-so-discreet wink and turns inside, nearly knocking his Viking hat off. "I HAVE THINGS," he announces. "MANY THINGS. I'LL JUST...LEAVE YOU TWO YOUNG ONES ALONE."

He closes the door way too hard.

I look at it for a second, then grab the front of Hiccup's tunic. "A dragon was downed at Terror Beach," I say. "A _Whispering Death_."

Hiccup's eyes change in understanding. He looks down.

I look down, wondering if I'm not wearing pants again.

"Is that a fish, Vel?"

I hug it closer. "Yes."

His mouth twitches. "C'mon," is all Hiccup says, running around the back of the house and into the woods.

My lungs protest and I have to stop at the first tree to cough, but Hiccup doesn't say anything, just waits patiently until we start going again.

We go until I'm sure my lungs are red and raw, but then I see a shield lodged twixt two boulders. We crawl under it and Hiccup catches my arm so I don't pitch forward into the cove...again. In daylight it's beautiful, a pane of water so clear I see fish flicking their tails. A thin waterfall sprays against the rocks. Suddenly, a familiar face pops up behind some of the rocks.

"Toothless," I say, clutching my side but still breathing.

We make our way down the cove. Toothless stays patiently at the bottom, and Hiccup slides down into the saddle first before turning to help me. I step lightly on Toothless' wing and catch Hiccup's shoulder, landing behind him. I don't let go.

"Let's go, bud," Hiccup says, patting Toothless' side. We start running and Hiccup flicks his foot, sending us up and up and up. The rush brings a familiar feeling, but something's off and I know it's my own fault.

"I'm sorry," I say, squeezing Hiccup's shoulder.

"Don't be," he responds lightly. "I'd get pretty mad at myself too if I hung out with me all the time."

And like everything with Hiccup, it all suddenly becomes okay when we go into a dive and he turns to smile at me. He smiles that crooked smile that makes me laugh even louder and bring my arms even higher, and I know it's fine. That it's okay.

Toothless flies low so as not to be seen, and the trees turn into mountains. The other side of the island approaches quickly and I crane my neck to look for any sign of Whispering Death.

Turns out I don't have to. Toothless lets out a roar and tips his wings. We turn sharply toward the sloping side of the cliffs and descend past the trees, down the steep ravine. Cold air ripples through my tunic and I press against Hiccup, blinking hard. Fog sweeps in with the waves and we land in a shower of black rocks. The sky on this side of the island is cloudy and dark, a whole different world. Fog rolls in great billows around my waist, and Toothless shakes his head in discomfort. The beach is dark and covered in wet, black rocks. The cliff face is stark and the beach stretches on for two hundred paces before the cliff side cuts back into it.

I slip off Toothless' back and then stop.

The fog shifts and a Whispering Death lays, coiled into itself not a hundred paces from us, hissing and licking its wounds. It's impossibly long, all tail and circular mouth rimmed by thousands of teeth. It holds itself defensively on the black rocks, pressed against a span of sharp boulders. It groans and growls, snapping its great jaws, moving its clouded eyes, coiling into itself like the spirals of a seashell. Moisture trickles down my face and Toothless shivers next to me.

Hiccup lands on his feet and stumbles over.

"Plan?" I whisper to him.

He shrugs, but I see by the way he flexes his hands that he's nervous. "Still got that fish?"

We look down.

"Still got it." I say.

Hiccup swallows. "Then that's our plan."

* * *

><p>"Hello," I whisper, creeping closer. The rocks shift unsteadily under my feet and I have to stop to gather my breath.<p>

The Whispering Death hisses, wrapping into itself. Its tail ripples on the ground, and its head turns in my direction.

"Hello," I breathe again, walking closer. _Sixty paces._

From what Vikings know, Whispering Deaths are mostly blind and have no visible ears. Most of this one's face is a cavernous mouth filled with shiny, spiny teeth. It has nostrils twixt its eyes under a spine. Hiccup says it must _feel _to understand its surroundings, since it can't seem to see, hear, or smell particularly well.

I take a few more steps, and its tail beats against the ground. Tremors ripple the spines along its back up onto its head and the Death looks at me again.

I swallow hard and keep going. _Forty paces. Thirty._

From this close, I can see its wounds better. Great, jagged scars tear its scales along its body. I squint up the cliff. A fall like that would kill a Viking any day. But the Whispering Death is alive, obviously, with these cuts that bleed but aren't anything close to life-threatening. The worst thing I see is its wing, torn a little around the edges, with a hole the size of my hand. A hole that'd make it hard to fly, no doubt.

My hands grow slightly less clammy as I feel a twinge of sympathy and shift the fish in twixt my hands. I know what it's like not to fly.

Like it senses the sadness, the Death curls closer and rests its head on its roping body. Even relaxed, its mouth doesn't close. I look down its throat, at the rows and rows of teeth. Whispering Deaths can spin their teeth faster than a windmill. They can't see, hear, or smell. But I bet it can taste.

_Twenty paces— _

My foot crunches against the rocks.

Suddenly, its head whips at me and it snaps at the air in my direction and I jump back, dropping the fish.

The Death raises its head...but to my horror, it doesn't stop there. Its neck extends, impossibly long. Piles of ropy body unwind as it approaches. Fifteen paces, ten paces..._one_...and it's sniffing me, its gaping mouth smelling earthy, like dirt and rock. I squeeze my eyes shut, fingers closing hard against the rocks—

I hear a million voices whispering as its million teeth _whir _and open my eyes, unable to push down the curiosity of my own doom, unable to just _take it_ in without learning one last thing—

And I watch the Death plummet into a tunnel right in front of me. Paces upon paces of dragon fly into the ground, green scales and red cuts blurring and disappearing as it drills deep, deep, deeper into the ground.

Its tail flicks the side of my cheek, spine not nearly as sharp as I imagined.

The fish is gone too.

So is my breath.

My fingers drop the rocks. Eventually I find my lungs and inflate them manually. I find my heart in my throat and put it back into place. My arms rope around my middle like I'm trying to keep everything in me _in_, and I feel my bones, _these are my hips, my ribs, my heart._

_My hips._

_My ribs._

_My heart._

"Gods, that was amazing!" Hiccup yells, popping out from behind a boulder. Toothless growls under him and dumps Hiccup on the ground. Hiccup pops back up and runs over the me, careful to skirt around the dark hole right in front of me. "Did you see it? Odin, it was...it was _amazing_. We were just about to fire and get you out when it drilled down!"

I just breathe and look down at my feet, the edge of my boot a finger's length from the edge of the hole.

"Toothless was all ready to spring in when it uncoiled but I had to grab him really tight—"

Toothless snorts moodily and nudges my shoulder in comfort.

"-but oh _gods_, Vel," Hiccup continues excitedly, "you were _amazing_!"

"Thanks," is all I can muster before Toothless mewls and pushes his nose into my hair. "It..._was _pretty amazing."

"Well, we'd best get back," Hiccup says, squinting into the breaking clouds. "Or else my dad may think something weird's happening."

"Yeah," I agree, still on my butt, still staring at the toes of my boots.

Still feeling the spiny tail stroke my face, like _goodbye. _The ground under my fingers vibrates...subtly.

Hiccup mounts Toothless and Toothless stretches his wings to release the tension. I take a breath to make sure everything in me is in the right place, then crawl to the edge of the Whispering Death's hole. I touch the edge, and black rocks skitter down into the darkness.

My finger comes back wet.

Deep red dragon blood coats the tips of my fingers. They start to sting.

* * *

><p><strong>You will see a return of the Whispering Death! <strong>

**I've started updating faster than I can write...phew. **

**Review and have an awesome week!**

**Cheers!**


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